Tumblr Drabbles
by PixieKindOfCrazy
Summary: Basically what the title says. Any requests I get on tumblr or on here. Klaroline, Kalijah, Kenett, etc.
1. Chapter 1

**Drabble request from kcmt1: **_can you do one where Caroline is a princess and Klaus is a commoner (artist) and she loves him but has to marry someone else? _

Yes I can! It kind of turned into something a little different at the end, but I hope you like it. I know Caroline's parents are very OOC, but I sort of just gave them stereotypical snobby king and queen personas for the purpose of the drabble. And I changed Caroline's name to sound older, lol sorry not sorry.

"You mustn't fidget so, Carolina," her mother remarked with slight exasperation upon seeing her daughter shifting restlessly in her seat as the royal portraiture attempted to, as Queen Elizabeth put it 'capture her daughter's beauty in a dignified manner'. It was hard to do such a task when said subject of the portrait kept turning her head, wringing her hands in her lap and uncrossing her legs only to cross them in a different but equally temporary position.

The artist trouble in portraying her was certainly not derived from her looks; it was not difficult to make her look beautiful. Indeed, this girl had always been the most beautiful of her age, ever since he started painting her when she was but an infant, per her parents' request. She was born fair-skinned, smooth like ivory covered in silk. Her eyes were the pure, undiluted blue of cornflower pedals with her hair falling over her shoulder in a curly braid of golden strands.

The girl looked up with defiance hidden behind the shy color of her blue eyes, feeling irrationally stifled by the stillness of sitting. She never could stay still for very long, even as a child, "I'm sorry, mother. I simply do not see the point in this painting- why do I need a portrait for my birthday? I have sixteen other renditions of my face already," the young princess complained.

"It is a tradition started on your very first birthday, dear, and I do not intend to stop it now when you are finally of age to marry," the Queen's eyes sparkled like she had a delightful secret that she almost couldn't contain within herself. So naturally, as is the nature of a queen with gossip, she let it slip, though she disguised it as a backhanded afterthought, "Besides, this picture will make a lovely wedding gift to Prince David."

Carolina sighed, resigning herself to sit for the rest of the painting, before she heard her mother's last words. The seemingly errant slip caused her to do a rather comical double take and give her a mother a look like she'd seen a ghost, "Wedding gift?" It was practically a shriek.

The queen knit her brows at the displeased tone in her daughter's voice; prince David of the neighboring nation was the catch of their century, or so say the giggling common girls she passes on the street. The marriage would make a beautiful alliance between the countries.

The hired artist had heard that tone in the girl's voice before; if it were not for his commission, he would have run at the sound.

"Why do you look so upset, my darling?" she walked to her daughter and witnessed the angry flush in the princess's cheeks, like spring suddenly giving life to a wilted rose, "Prince David is quite handsome. I am told he is very charming as well. What is wrong with you to be so displeased?"

Carolina erupted from her seat, walking swiftly to the other side of the room where the doorway would give her leave, "Perhaps the fact that I was not even asked if I WISHED to marry anyone! You never ask me about these things, Mother!"

In truth, Carolina had no desire to marry. She knew it was her duty, she knew it ever since she was ten and she'd tried to play with a boy from the surrounding villages. Her father found them huddled in the dirt and laughing and at once picked her up and carried her back to the castle without even the luxury of letting her say goodbye to her new friend. It was that day that her parents sat her down and told her that she had a responsibility to her country, that there were certain kinds of people she could not and should not associate with if she wanted to be queen.

And she had wanted to be queen, up until very recently. She had wanted to rule over all the people she loved and possibly loosen some of the harsh rulings her father had decreed…

But in recent months, she had felt her voice dwindling away. She was getting less and less say in things and she realized that the only way she would become queen would be to marry a prince. And inevitably, once that prince was a king, his opinions were the only ones that would be valued in court. She did not particularly like the idea of being a beautiful trophy in a crown. Although if the crown was jewled…

_No Carolina, don't give in! _she reminded herself. This was not about all the pretty things she'd so loved and valued as a child. This was about her life and the fact that she wanted it to remain HERS. If she married that Prince David, especially attractive or not, she would belong to him.

She ran to her chambers and threw herself on the padded window sill, looking out at the rolling hills like she always does when she's feeling very trapped. She had a dream once, of running away through those mountains of green, finding some land where no one knew her name and no one fell to their knees at the sight of her bright eyes and porcelain face. She hated being viewed as a doll. She was so much more than that. She was sure of her own potential like no proper noble lady should be in her time.

As she sat there in contemplation, she remembered the only true friend she'd ever had. All of her friends now associate with her for one of two reasons, obligation or blind admiration, and those that act out of obligation are mostly hiding hideous jealousies towards her. She did not think those type of girls qualified as friends. And any male friend she'd ever had a chance at having turned out to be silly admirers that knew not of their poor chances.

But her real friend, the boy she stumbled across in the outlying villages around the castle, he was something. He was stuck on her brain for some reason now. She had been on one of her bouts of running away she went through often as a child; she'd get the sudden urge to flee and simply sneak out of the castle. (She knew all the back doors and secret tunnels by the time she was seven, not that the guards or their majesties are aware of that.) The boy she'd quite literally ran into was as beautiful as she was. She found it strange then; she had until then assumed that the only people this pleasant to see were much higher up than he was, the noble class. But he was no knight, no lord of anything. He wore canvas trousers with rips at the knees and there was dirt smudged under his sapphire eyes. His curls that fell into those eyes were a couple shades darker than her hair. He'd asked her what she was doing out alone and she'd assumed he was going to tell his parents that he'd found the runaway princess. But he then went on to comment on how dangerous it is for small girls to wander alone after dusk. It was true that the sun was getting lower in the sky. She'd turned her nose up at that comment, a little offended until she realized he had no idea she was royalty. And for reasons she didn't know, she thought the fact that he didn't know who she was was very refreshing, freeing to a degree. So she went with him, ran through the tall reed grass to one of his favorite spots by a dirty river, the cool water trickling over their toes and washing grime off of his. She giggled as it tickled her skin and made her toes curl. And as he stood up, the boy felt a weird happiness in his heart, that of course, like any boy of his age, he did not know what to do with. As was almost tradition for when a young boy didn't know how to express affections for a little girl, he pushed her in. She stood from in the shallow water with soggy curls and flashing, angry baby blues.

A half an hour later, her father found her having dinner with the boy's family and promptly took her away. When the boy's own father realized his son had all but thrown a princess in grimy water, he was enraged. But the princess was dragged out of the small house before she could see what father would do to son.

The boy never forgot the look on her face as she was sopping wet and Carolina wished now she had fought to stay there. She did manage to ask for his name, though, of that she was grateful. Niklaus, that was his name. Sounded rather odd to her at the time but now whenever she thought it or dared to say it out loud, it sounded like how they laughed when they were small that one day, seemingly set apart from time in her mind.

"Carolina, what is this foolish business I hear of you refusing the arrangement your mother and I have made for you?"

Her father was quite upset at her disobedience and she knew that unless she ran away for good this time, there would no stopping this marriage.

After her father had finished reminding her of her duties and her mother had finished listing all of Prince David's worthy attributes, she opted to sneak away, out the second secret passage she had ever found. She didn't know why she was leaving now if she didn't intend to run, but some part of her hoped to find an answer for her dilemma. She could not marry a prince, but she could not leave her beloved country and people either. She wanted to change the way they were ruled.

She had been in the town square before, but only when she took trips out of the castle with her guards to buy fruits and delicacies from vendors. She'd never seen the market-like square in the evening or own her own. It seemed to have a different air now. In the day, it was bustling with traders, the smells of fresh bread and over-ripened plums. The bright sunlight streamed through her carriage and would sometimes blind her eyes.

But now it was peaceful, a soothing cover of night. That was a bit oppressive but made up for it in fascinating inhabitants. There was a street side singer, most likely drunk, sharing his sorrows with the world. There were several painters, mostly painting the stars that glimmered above their heads. There were peasant teenagers, almost like parallel versions of herself, sitting on stone walls and writing on old crumpled paper and talking to each other in secretive whispers.

She wore a purple, velvet hood to hide her face, but most of them recognized her as royalty just from the expensiveness of the material she wore.

The one artist she seemed drawn to for no apparent reason except the subject of his painting had a storm of colors on his canvas, dark and confusing. She couldn't for all her curiosity figure out what it was supposed to be. But maybe that was the point. Most artists of the time attempted to capture real life images. He was capturing his soul on canvas and she wanted to see more of the chaos. She was not often allowed to witness anything that was unorganized like this, like him. He wore shabby clothes consisting of brown pants that had been worn at the legs, a black shirt that only just barely fit him, and a tattered blue vest that hung over his arms.

She had to shallowly admit that part of her reasoning for approaching him may have been his looks. From behind, he was attractive; he had wide, leanly muscled shoulders and he stood almost a foot taller than her. His hair was curled wildly but she couldn't see the color in the dark.

"May I ask what you'd like that painting to be when it's done?"

The quiet, clear voice broke through his reverie of focus with its politeness. Normally he hated being interrupted while he was painting, and would snap at anyone who dared to. But as he turned to rudely ask his voyeur to leave, he was struck by something akin to lightning.

That face, he had a vague notion that he had seen it before. But of course he had, every citizen of the nation had seen their queen to be before. But it wasn't her status that shocked him, no it was her eyes as she tilted her head. A light gleamed on them from the moon and he felt as if crystals were staring into his very soul. He had met her once before, but she was not nearly as beautiful then. Or not THIS type of beautiful. Perhaps he had just been to young and foolish to appreciate it before.

"Carolina," he acknowledge without thinking, blinking at her as both his eyebrows raised in pleased but vaguely annoyed surprise. She had not once come to see him again after the time when he had been beaten for playing with her as kids. But then, she didn't know the consequences he faced.

She lifted one, perfect eyebrow, "You greet me by informal name and do not answer my question? What a peculiar stranger."

His face set into tone when he realized she did not remember him, "I see no reason to adhere to trivial pleasantries when your high guard is not here to punish me for refraining."

He turned back around without another word. But as he smirked in that slightly boyish, slightly devious way, she suddenly knew where she had seen the lines of his face before. In her only friend…

"Niklaus?"

He tensed as he continued painting, "So you are actually capable of remembering things you are told to forget."

His belligerent tone sliced her a bit, hurting something in her chest, but she felt that maybe there was more behind it the intention to hurt her. So she walked around the canvas in order to face him again and she looked at him kindly with soft eyes, "I remember you perfectly and I would very much like to know what you are painting there."

There was a twinkle of humor in his eyes that he'd forgotten she had and had also forgotten the effect said mannerism had on him.

He paused briefly and gave in, "It's not meant to be one thing; I'm only blending the colors I like best into a storm. The rain drops are red if you see."

She smiled slightly as she remembered the signs that meant she had one this game, just like she'd one a few against him when they were children.

"I do think that I like it. And that I know of something else for you to paint."

"Oh, you do, princess?" he lifted an eyebrow teasingly and his smirk this time was not mean.

"Yes," she nodded, suddenly infused with cheerfulness she had lost when she heard of the news of her marriage, "Me. I've grown bored of the man that usually paints me and I don't want to be portrayed how my mother wishes me to. How she sees me is just not who I am, I'm afraid."

He smiled at the girl's tenacity and her unconscious endearing gestures and in that moment, he was taken. He was hers.

_Ok so, this was getting pretty long and I sort of have a tentative idea of what I would do with it next. So if anyone is interested in me continuing it, just inbox me to let me now. :) Happy reading. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: **_This was a drabble request on tumblr but I thought I'd share it with you guys. Let me know if you want more of this or have any different requests. Xx. _

**Disclaimer: **_I own pretty much nothing. _

"I really don't see why you enjoy this," his voice was monotone as Katherine stood beside him, banging her head in a ridiculous fashion to the music.

She turned her head and pouted at him, a mocking action designed to either seduce or tease. In his opinion it was what she was best at. He does not say that to her face unless he's feeling particularly feisty and actually _wants_ to get slapped. He didn't know why but sometimes anger was the best way to start something enjoyable between them. Perhaps because they were both stubborn.

The music blared alongside her voice as she answered back sarcastically, "Did it ever occur to you that some people need more than a good book or a good feed to entertain them? Rock music isn't al bad, 'Lijah."

He lifted one stern eyebrow at her, a silent communication that reminded her of the many times he told her not to call him that.

"Some people's choices of entertainment are less than preferable to me," he answered back in an even tone, ignoring the concert and skimming through a book he'd read a million times.

She only laughed at him, a sound he was trying not let himself grow so fond of. A failed attempt, naturally.

"You're very stuffy, old man," she smirked as she leaned against his side in flirting, "It's a mystery why I spend my valuable time with you."

He only shook his head and sighed, half-amused and half aggravated. He spoke as if he'd answered that quip many times before, "No, it isn't. You know precisely why you chose to me to accompany you."

She grinned, playful and feline-like, as she lifted both perfectly manicured eyebrows, "The mind-blowing sex?"

She expected him to answer back with something more serious, and give a name to this force that always seemed to pull them back together.

All he said was, "Yes."

But a second later, when his lips quirked very subtly into a tiny, pleased-with-himself smirk that only she can pull out of him, she knew he was teasing back, in his own way, and that he did actually believe there was more to it than that. Not that he thought this was the proper time to discuss that.

She shook her head at him and let out a rare laugh, genuine, "You are slightly funnier than you lead people to believe."

"People believe what they want to be true and it has never made much of a difference to me. Not the humans, at least."

The way his dark eyes flicked up from his no-doubt boring book and locked onto hers made her realize he was enjoying himself in their little argument. He always loved to give back as good as she gave. And she realized that was the reason she kept going back to him. Right there. The fact that Elijah was the only man she'd ever been with that could truly keep up. A few had challenged her, like the younger Salvatore, but that was always out of malice, not affection. Many had adored and obeyed her, like the elder Salvatore. But the Original was the only one that seemed to know exactly why she said things and exactly what to say back to get to her, whether it be intended to amuse her, tease her, or piss her off. He could achieve them all. It also made her feel a little unguarded around him and she hadn't decided if that was good or not yet.


End file.
